Memoirs of a Marching Jaguar: Freshman Year
by featherbrained-flute
Summary: My band memories told through the Dieci Gardens gang. Many one-shot humor chapters with no discernable plotline. Laugh at my misadventures. Rated for language and innuedos.
1. Learning the Closer

**A Tempo of 210 is Bad For Your Health**

"Hm," Mr. Oakley mused. "Okay, band. We're going to try something." The band ceased all chatter and shifted their attention to the head band director on the tower.

"We're going to march this closer at insane tempos," he continued. "If it looks good at, say, 200, it'll look pefect at 168, right?" The high schoolers nodded, the logic working out in their heads. With some soft chatter (mostly complaints from the freshmen), the band jogged to their spots for the beginning of the closer. Mr. Ford, the percussion instructor and the keeper of the metronome, set the tempo into the metronome. Mr. Radley prepared to watch for any bad marching fundamentals. Mr. Oakley signaled Leslie, the head drum major, to start, and the band stepped off.

At 168, it didn't look half-bad, but it could have used some work.

At 175, the band was clearly dragging, but they managed to get to their spots on time.

At 180, the band's feet started catching up with their minds, and the formations started looking much better.

At 190, some of the band were actually rushing. With a friendly reminder from Mr. Ford, the band pressed on with an accurate drumline.

At 200, the formations were nearing perfection. Not DCI perfection, mind you, but it was pretty damn close. By this time, the freshmen and the weak were visibly exhausted.

"That was nice,"Mr. Oakley congratulated. "Mr. Ford, 210!" As Mr. Ford typed in the new tempo, the band shuffled back to their spots and groaned.

* * *

Mr. Oakley stopped his torture of the band at 210 (after hinting that he might go a little bit faster). Leslie counted off the band at 168, and they excecuted the movements perfectly. Some who had dragged the first time now had to control their body so they did not rush. When the band halted, Mr. Oakley was amazed.

"That looked _awesome!" _The band sighed in relief; at least they wouldn't have to march through hell again. "How did it sound, Mr. Radley?" he called down. The band director in question looked up and frowned a bit.

"... I wasn't listening," he admitted sheepishly. Now sighing in frustration, the band once more took their places.


	2. Summer Rains

**Rainy Day Pirates**

It was unbelievable. Only two weeks into summer band and it started pouring torrentially. Many veterans and the band directors sighed and wondered why the weather had chosen this particular year to start acting up. They warned the freshmen that every season was not going to be like this, and the underclassmen nodded.

--

After playing the first two movements with the entire band, the directors decided to split the band into sections and have them cover their parts. The sections scattered across the school and started tackling their parts. Others played around, making up band-related lyrics to catchy Internet phenomenon and took the day's theme (Pirate Thursday) to heart. The flutes were one of the serious sections.

The section leader, Camille Lucille, made the desicion to split the section according to their parts. First flutes took a hallway upstairs, and second flutes took over the adjacent hallway. Leslie, while making her rounds, sat in on the second flutes. They had been working on memorization, sprinkled with some chatter.

"Okay, let's see what you have so far," Leslie announced.

Kalie, a junior, smirked. "So ... _farrrrrrr." _She put major emphasis on the "arrr" while curving her pointer finger into a hook. Even Leslie laughed.


	3. If Band Directors Were Parents

**Director Parents?**

Catalena twitched. One day of Zephyr talking about band and the high school directors was enough. A _week _was pushing it. She shot a sideways glance at Zephyr, who was still blabbing about the show and random small things that no one ever noticed, like that Mr. Ford was slightly balding, or that Mr. Oakley looked like Nikki's dad, or that Mr. Radley's nickname should be "Boo" (due to his frightening aura and his name: Arthur Radley).

"Zeph?" growled Catalena, ignoring her urge to supress her annnoyance. "Are the band directors, like, your new parents or somethin'?"

The flautist studied her for a bit, pursed her lips, and said, "If the band directors are my parents, then which one's the mom?" The tiniest smirk materialized on Catalena's face.

"Oakley. Definitely." As long as she was dissing the directors, Catalena continued. "Boo's the dad, and ... I dunno, Ford can be the nanny."

Zephyr chuckled lightly. "The funny thing is, I have no problem picturing Mr. Oakley in a frilly pink apron."

* * *

"Oscar!" Zephyr called. The Japanese tuba player turned around and waved at Zephyr.

"Kaze-chan! What is up?" he greeted. He moved to Dieci from Japan about three years ago, and while he could speak English and some Spanish fluently, he still chose to speak Japanese.

Zephyr smiled sweetly and sighed, "It's Zephyr, okay? Anyway, if the band directors are my parents, which one's the mom?"

Oscar guffawed, and launched into a detailed explanation. "Mr. Oakley is mom, of course. Maybe with apron or something. Mr. Ford is creepy uncle whose house smells like cabbages. Mr. Radley is dad that works twelve hours each day, goes home to read newspaper, and tells kids to go away."

"Can Mr. Oakley's apron be pink and frilly?"

"Even better."


	4. SightReading with Mr Ford

**Mr. Ford's Concert 1 Adventures**

Mr. Oakley was away once more, and Mr. Radley hadn't volunteered to watch the head director's bands. It was in these situations that Mr. Ford took over. Mr. Oakley's instructions for Concert 1 (the third band) were simple: have them sight-read.

The percussion director stepped onto the podium and glanced over the chattering band. As soon as they silenced themselves, Mr. Ford explained what they were going to do, saying, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"Is that what she said?" Zephyr muttered under her breath. Kalie, who had heard her, doubled over, trying not to laugh. This attracted Mr. Ford's attention for a little while, but he got to work on passing out the piece.

* * *

Mr. Ford signaled Concert 1 to stop, and stared down at the score. The instructions were to have Concert 1 sight-read a march, which may or may not be their contest piece.

"Okay, I need more clarinet and oboe," the percussion director muttered after going over what he had heard.

A flautist in the first row, Zephyr, quietly commented, "What oboes?" Hearing this, her seatmates Kalie and Lillia held back large amounts of laughter.

* * *

Mr. Ford continued to watch the trumpets counting their part in disappointment. A trait that all of the Dieci trumpets shared was wimpiness. If Mr. Radley were here … ooh. Mr. Ford didn't want to think about that. He glanced at the score again and turned to the first and second chair flute - Kalie and Zephyr, respectively.

"Okay, let's add in these two shy flute girls," he announced. "The flutes have the same part as the trumpets, right?" Kalie and Zephyr nodded, holding back laughter. Zephyr was the epitome of shy and quiet, but Kalie? The girl was a social butterfly.

The two then proceeded to completely drown out the trumpet section.

* * *

The band was rehearsing on the stage this particular day. Mr. Oakley had glued his rump to a seat in the audience to see how the judges would hear "In the Shining of the Stars." Mr. Ford took over directing Concert 1, since Mr. Radley was off making copies or something.

Zephyr took in all the air her lungs (and the eighth rest) could allow, and continued playing in tune and with vibrato. _Two more measures and this song would be over. _As soon as the thought entered the flautist's brain, Mr. Ford mysteriously cut off the band. Much of the band stared at him in confusion; Mr. Oakley had never done this before.

"Huh?" came Mr. Oakley's voice.

"Well, there's a caesura right there," Mr. Ford replied in confusion.

"Oh. Ignore that."

"Let's try that again," Mr. Ford directed. "Measure 80!"

Being notorious for their slacker-ish attitudes, Concert 1 had never numbered their measures. Many of them didn't find the measure in time for Mr. Ford's start.

"1, 2, ready, go!"

Silence.

Then laughter.


	5. Crawfish Dissection Day

**Crawfish Voodoo?**

Zephyr and Oscar studied their crawfish for a while. By the end of this period, it would be a mass of internal organs and an exoskeleton.

"Can we name it Arthur Ray Radley III?" Zephyr wondered aloud.

"Hai!" Oscar immediately agreed. "We can pay him back for all the pain he has caused!"

Zephyr turned to the other members of their dissection group: Kira, a clarinet in one of Mr. Radley's bands, and Opal, a girl in Mr. Radley's study hall. Both of them nodded in consent.

* * *

Oscar flipped the crawfish over in his hand, trying to locate its reproductive organs. "Hope we do not have to pull them off if it is guy," he muttered to himself. "I cannot find them."

Zephyr looked at the crawfish curiously. "It'd be really awkward if it was a girl," she commented.

Oscar chuckled. "Mr. Radley got gender change."

Eventually, the teacher stopped by to tell them that the crawfish was indeed a male.

* * *

Kira read over the instructions carefully. "Zeph, you cut one of its claws off," she directed.

Slowly, the flautist snipped its left claw off (after first apologizing in advance).

"Ha!" Oscar mocked in triumph. "Now he cannot hold baton!"

"Actually, he holds his baton with his right," corrected Zephyr. "I think it's a band sin to hold it with your left."

* * *

After carefully snipping off the carapace, the group was surprised to find no heart.

"Where's the heart?" Kira asked in disbelief.

"Maybe it doesn't have one," suggested Oscar.

"That would be ironic," Zephyr murmured, against her better judgment.

The teacher happened to be walking past, and with one movement, she had torn the heart out. "Here it is," she stated. The three band members chuckled nervously.

* * *

Oscar slammed down the scissors and the crawfish and glared at the latter. "Your legs getting in my way," he sternly told the aquatic animal. The tuba player started to cut off all of its legs.

Looking at the scene, Zephyr sighed. "I'm gonna feel really bad if we walk into band and Mr. Radley's missing his left arm and both his legs."

Oscar chuckled at the image.

* * *

After cleaning up the mutilated mess that was Arthur Ray Radley III the crawfish, Zephyr headed to lunch.

She was met by Kayla Selmer, a bassoonist that had just walked out of band class.

"Oh my gosh!" she started.

Zephyr paused. "What is it, Kayla?"

Kayla looked back at her with large ocean blue eyes. "Mr. Radley was laughing hysterically while blowing bubbles!!"

"What?! When was this?!"

"Just now!"

* * *

The next time Zephyr saw Oscar, it was the end of the day. "Oscar!" she called.

"Yes, Kaze?"

"Zephyr."

"Kaze."

"Whatever. Anyway, you know how we named the crawfish Mr. Radley?"

"Hai …"

"At the exact same time we were dissecting, Mr. Radley snapped."

"What?! How?!"

"He laughed hysterically while blowing bubbles."

"HAIII!" He threw up his fist in triumph. "The voodoo worked! We drove him insane!"


	6. Arthur Ray Radley III

**The Wonderful World of Mr. Radley**

For no apparent reason, Mr. Radley set down his baton and asked the band, "Why are you guys still in band?"

There was some nervous shifting among all the sections. "No, I didn't mean that to insult you all. I'm just curious." Some upperclassmen and brave underclassmen tentatively raised their hands.

Considering that this was the last band, the replies were mostly, "My parents force me to be in here." Some actually enjoyed every single aspect of band, they just weren't very good at their instrument. A lone trumpet player's hand shot up, much like a person jumping about ten feet when getting a bottom full of porcupine quills. Mr. Radley called on that one.

"Because I like you, Mr. Radley!" the trumpetist announced proudly. While the freshmen looked at him like he was crazy, Mr. Radley shrunk back a bit; the movement was so subtle, no one else in the room noticed.

"Uh ... thanks," he stammered. "I like you too?"

* * *

Kayla waited patiently for her sister in the band hall. Both she and Leslie had private lessons to go to, but the drum major had a question about pit orchestra rehearsal for the spring musical. Tiring of parking her rump on a table, the bassoonist stood up and wandered the band hall, looking at the many shiny trophies and awards the band had been given over the years.

"Meet me at seven and we'll do it."

Kayla froze. Was that Mr. Radley's voice she heard just now? And did he just say that to her _sister?! _Inconspicuously, she edged her way towards the office, hoping that seven was the rehearsal time and not something else.

"That's was she said!" came her sister's chipper voice.

"... is that a yes?"

Kayla joined in the laughter pouring out from the office.

* * *

Being one of the more talented head band directors in the state, Mr. Oakley was often called away to judge contests and such. When this occured, Mr. Radley usually took over conducting for his bands. Today, he was with the third band (one step above the last band) helping them learn a piece they had sight-read the other day.

Many in this band had completely forgotten sections of the warm-up because Mr. Oakley skipped small portions of it every day. Unlike him. Mr. Radley insisted on having his bands play the entire warm-up. The fact that this was one of Mr. Oakley's bands did not seem to matter to him.

When the tubas went straight to the tuning note, Mr. Radley chastied them, saying, "No. You're used to Mr. Oakley's warm-up. You have to get used to me."

It wasn't until much later that a little flautist named Zephyr wondered, "Was that what she said?"

* * *

Mr. Radley picked up Allied Honor's score and flipped through it. Concert 1 (the third band) had sight-read this piece yesterday, and his instructions were to try to get it to UIL perfection. The band director looked out over the band and asked, "How many times have you read this before?"

"Once" was the unanimous answer.

"Okay, so this is your second time, my first time," he muttered.

Zephyr fought the urge to utter, "That's what she said."

* * *

It was getting towards the end of the period, and the reading was going pretty well. It wasn't up to Mr. Radley's extremely high standards, but it would do for now. He decided to leave them with a few reminders before they were released.

"Another thing to work on: _tuning," _he stressed. "Two people next to each other could be fifty cents apart!"

The first row (consisting of the three flutes and the first and second clarinets) silently giggled and quietly conversed amongst themselves about Mr. Radley's (completely fictional) secret love of rap. Kalie turned to Lillia and whispered, "Mr. Radley's a Fifty-fan!"

The director in question turned to the gossiping woodwinds and curtly said, "Hush."

* * *

Mr. Radley had taken over Concert 1 yet again, and this time, his instructions were to have them truly sight-read (complete with the seven minutes of complete silence and all that jazz). He had the band perform a short excercise involving them looking at the sight-reading piece for about ten seconds, then flipping it over and seeing what they remembered.

"Who saw the key? What did it change to?" he asked. Several hands shot up, but a sophomore clarinet by the name of Tetra shrank back and tried to make herself look smaller; Mr. Radley had a knack for knowing who didn't know the answer and calling on them.

Just as she feared, Mr. Radley glanced at her and said, "Tetra?"

"Noooo ..." she whined. Deperately trying to remember what sharps or flats appeared, she stammered, "Um ... A ..."

"Flat," Mr. Radley finished.

"Oh," she whispered in a defeated voice.

* * *

Even though everyone in the room had probably seen their shares of the sight-reading room, Mr. Radley still insisted on walking them through the procedure.

"And the judge will be up here saying things, and you won't be listening to him, like you are with me right now ..."

The band chuckled nervously.

* * *

Zephyr once again concentrated on the music. It wasn't that difficult, really - mostly eighth notes and almost no sixteenths in sight - but she still needed to be careful. She had let her guard down and made worse mistakes in the past: for example, her re-reading of "Sawmill Creek." She looked up at Mr. Radley for the start of the piece and found that he had put his finger on his nose.

"If I do this, it means 'remember your key signature,' not that I'm picking my nose," he justified.

Zephyr fought the urge to laugh.


	7. Aftermath of the Clinic

**Some People Keep Ritarding**

It was the Tuesday after the band's spring trip. This year, they had gone to Corpus Christi for a weekend to randomly have fun. Oh, and for a clinic to help them with their UIL music. Lately, Concert 1 has had a major issue with one of their songs, "Variations on Scarborough Fair." As soon as they slipped into a two-measure ritard, the percussion (namely, the bells and the piano, but mostly the bells) couldn't seem to find the tempo, throwing off the flute and sax soloists and generally making the normally pretty lullaby-like tune sound horrid.

Mr. Oakley looked over the clinicians' notes and narrowed his options for the cause of this tempo discrepancy: the height of the bells and the bell player not watching the baton.

He turned in his chair on the podium towards the bell player. "Here's exactly what the clinician said: 'Your bell player's like 6' 9" and the bells look like they're at his knees. Think that might be the problem, Luke?" Luke shrugged and adjusted the bell set's height while the band chuckled.

"Another issue that might be the cause," Mr. Oakley continued, "Once I get to measure twelve, that's the tempo I'm staying at."

"Ohhh." Luke nodded. "Okay. See, I thought you going to keep slowing down until measure thirteen ..."

"Ah. You thought I was ritarding more." At this, the band roared with laughter.

Mr. Oakley turned the Concert 1, frowning sheepishly. "You know what I mean," he said curtly.


End file.
